Silence
by Amanda Kitswell
Summary: The Blight looms outside the walls of Castle Redcliffe, and Arais has never felt the pressure quite so much as she does now, with her comrade at arms and lover exiled and a forbidden ritual the only means through which she can come out of it all alive. When everything feels hopeless, a friend shows her the situation is anything but. Cover image edit by jarebear20 on tumblr.


_You're too kind, my lady. Amongst many other things._

_- Teagan Guerrin_

* * *

The halls of Redcliffe Castle were cold and familiar, and something about them reminded Arais of Kinloch Hold. Perhaps it was the persistent chill, or the silence that only seemed to surround her when she least desired it. It was the same all-encompassing quiet she had experienced when she'd sought First Enchanter Irving, that last day before she left to join the Wardens. As she walked the halls of the castle, her ears struggled to hear something, anything, but the only sound was that of her light leather boots on the carpet.

It took some effort not to dwell on what was occurring in her chambers, between Morrigan and Loghain. This ritual of Morrigan's. Arais had suggested they use her quarters, as there was nothing to be gained if Loghain was seen cavorting with the witch. Everyone was wary of Morrigan; though they'd traveled with her for a year now, the distance Morrigan kept between herself and others had been keeping everyone from developing any camaraderie with her. Arais was closer to the witch than anyone else, but even so, when they spoke, Morrigan seemed like a bird, tensed to fly away if Arais moved too quickly, or spoke the wrong words.

And as wary as the companions were of Morrigan, they trusted the newest Warden even less. It wasn't as if Arais expected anyone else to trust either of them as implicitly as she did, but she would certainly appreciate someone—these people who had traveled with her for a _year_—trusting _her _judgment. Of course, the last time she had hoped someone would trust her, he'd left.

That had been her fault, though. She should have known better. She'd blamed him at first, tried to convince herself that if Alistair really loved her he would have stayed and fought, but she knew deep down that just wasn't true. He had every right to feel betrayed, because that was what happened. She'd put Anora on the throne. It had been selfish; she hadn't been thinking about Alistair at all. If she had, perhaps she would have let him have his vengeance.

No, that wouldn't have been right, either. No matter what Loghain had done, how terrible his actions might have been, she took to heart what Anora said of Arl Howe and his treachery. If there was even the slightest chance that Loghain had been influenced at all, he deserved the chance to redeem himself. This was part of the reason she'd agreed to let Morrigan go ahead with the ritual. She wasn't about to let Loghain kill himself to end the Blight—there was no honor in taking one's own life, no matter the circumstances. And he had helped without argument these past months and even followed her most outlandish commands. This, more than anything, proved him to be more loyal than she could have hoped.

She froze at the top of the stairs, with an uncomfortable realization: Hadn't Alistair been loyal to her throughout everything? Hadn't he supported every decision she made, even when he didn't agree? He understood her need to save the Circle, knew that she would have risked everything to save the men and women she'd spent the better part of her life with: those whom she considered family. Even her decision to release Jowan from the cell in the dungeons, knowing full well what he had done to Eamon, went unchallenged. She had told him about Jowan, about his betrayal. She'd explained why she didn't believe Jowan was evil, despite the blood magic, and Alistair had taken her at her word.

Alistair had accepted her for what she was—a mage—without seeming to ever question it, in spite of his Templar training. That he just accepted that part of her . . . perhaps she should have realized sooner a naïve acceptance of what others said was something they shared.

Maybe he never noticed himself.

Would she ever have a chance to explain it to him? When he'd left, it had sounded so . . . final. She couldn't imagine never seeing him again—never having a chance to find him—but what if that was exactly what happened? What if he truly didn't want to be found? That might very likely be the case.

She shivered, not entirely because of the chill breeze that swept up the staircase, and rubbed her arms against the gooseflesh that puckered her skin. She descended the stairs and looked around as she reached the bottom. Finally, a noise. It was muffled, but even so, it shattered the oppressive silence like a rock thrown through a window.

Voices—angry voices, from the sound of it—erupted from behind the closed door of the arl's study. It didn't take more than a moment to identify the men arguing within: Arl Eamon, of course, and Bann Teagan. Interesting. She thought of the bann as even-tempered, and a fierce protector of those who looked to him for safety. Although . . . he might have been a little too eager to throw himself to the wolves at the behest of Arlessa Isolde.

To hear him be anything other than calm was disconcerting, to say the least.

What could have pitted the two brothers in such a vehement exchange? As curious as she was, though, it was clearly not her place to intervene.

The voices hushed. Then, sudden footsteps, and the door swung open. Bann Teagan crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him, his expression a mask of vexation.

When he saw her, he stopped mid-stride. "Arais?" He offered a smile, though it seemed forced. "I must admit I'm surprised you are not in bed."

"With circumstances as they are, sleep is elusive," she lied. She gave him a weak grin, then gestured to the door. "Is everything all right?"

He glanced over his shoulder toward the study and shook his head. "My brother and I disagree about who should remain in Redcliffe." He met her eyes. "The arling has already come close to losing its arl once this year. I would prefer that your efforts to retrieve the ashes that saved Eamon's life were not in vain." He let out an agitated sigh. "I . . . apologize. I shouldn't trouble you with this. No doubt, you have a great many things on your mind as it is."

"It's no trouble, Bann Teagan."

"Please, just call me Teagan." His smile was now genuine. "On the eve of departing Redcliffe for what could be the last time, I think we can drop formalities. Wouldn't you agree?"

"As you wish." She flushed, her eyebrows furrowing together. That was unexpected.

His eyes glittered with amusement. "You seem confused."

"Well, yes. My limited experience with nobility has shown me that you are . . . not much like the rest of them. Most of the nobles I have encountered are disdainful of someone like me, if not outright hostile."

"Do I not have good reason to think well of you?" The humor left his eyes. "You saved my nephew's life. Not only that, you went to incredible lengths to spare Isolde's, though she was more than willing to sacrifice herself. And you faced a dragon to get the ashes that restored Eamon to health. I owe you a great deal, Arais. It would hardly be fair of me to treat you as anything less than the friend you have proven yourself to be. To my family and to me."

"I-I see," she stammered. His declaration had caused an uncomfortable flutter in her stomach, and her gaze fell to the floor. "I was only doing what I felt was right."

His fingers brushed against her chin, gently urging her to look up. "Not very many people have such a clear view of what is right."

His hand fell to his side, and she blinked up at him. She found nothing but honesty in his expression: the faint grin, the slight squint that creased the corners of his eyes.

He drew in a deep breath, and clasped his hands together. "Since it seems neither of us are quite ready to sleep, would you care to join me for a cup of tea?"

"Of course."

As he led the way to the kitchens, Teagan's words floated in her mind. _Did_ she really know the right thing to do any better than the next person? After the debacle at the Landsmeet, she would have to say no. Perhaps the challenges she had faced had honed her sense of morality, purified it to a degree most people did not possess, but that hardly meant she always did the right thing.

But maybe that wasn't what he meant. It was true that she always did what she felt was best, but didn't everybody? She had, however, made an effort to save as many lives as possible, something that was not always simple to do. For a year she traveled all over Ferelden. Every life she took in that time weighed heavily on her shoulders, particularly the ones that could have been saved, if only she had been quicker, stronger. More decisive. Niall, Danyla, Ruck . . . perhaps all had been beyond saving by the time she came upon them.

But what if she'd arrived sooner? What if they hadn't spent so much time struggling against the Carta? Or if they'd gone to the Brecilian Forest before dallying in Denerim? And maybe things would have been different at the Circle if they'd traveled there first, rather than spending so much time in Lothering. Would any of that have made a difference?

Perhaps, if she hadn't left the tower to begin with, then at least the Circle would have fared better.

No, that was ridiculous. If she hadn't left, it was entirely possible she would have died along with Niall and the others. And then who would have gone with Duncan to battle the Blight? Alistair might have been alone, and the Maker only knew how that would have turned out.

Teagan led her through a familiar door. The last time she had been in this part of the castle, she had been fighting off animated corpses. Tonight, when they entered the kitchen, it no longer smelled of death, thankfully. Rather, the scents of herbs and cooked meat and just the slightest hint of berries lingered in the air.

The memory of dinner earlier that night, of Isolde fussing over her son, prompted Arais's next question. "How is Connor feeling? He seems well, given the circumstances."

Teagan looked up from where he was filling the teapot with water. "He is doing well, better than I would have expected, though Isolde would be hard pressed to agree." He replaced the lid and moved to the fire.

"I can't say I blame her." He paused to stare at her questioningly. "He's her son," Arais explained. "As foolish as it was to keep him from the Circle, and even more so to ask Jowan, of all people, to train him, I won't hold her desire to protect Connor against her."

"That's very generous of you," he said, without a hint of irony. After he hung the teapot over the flames, he gestured to one of the chairs beside a sturdy wooden table, presumably where the servants ate their meals. He sat across from her once she settled into a seat.

"She couldn't have known what kind of man she was hiring to help Connor," Arais continued. "I doubt Jowan would have advertised the means he used to escape from Kinloch Hold." She frowned. "I didn't even suspect him until I was lying on the floor, covered in blood. Jowan's blood," she amended, seeing the concern in his eyes. There was a moment when he was simply silent, his expression thoughtful as he studied her face. A flush warmed her cheeks, and she had to look away, though she could still feel his eyes on her.

"How did you come to the Circle?"

Arais glanced back at him, surprised—Alistair hadn't even asked her that. She struggled to remember, it had been so long ago, so long since she'd thought of it.

"I was born in Kirkwall," she began tentatively, sifting through countless moments to find those that were relevant. "My parents were kind, but always very nervous and careful with me when they brought me to town. I think they guessed I might be a mage before I ever showed any signs."

She took a breath, knitting her eyebrows together as she trudged through the thick haze time had cast over her memories. "I was eight when I came into my magic. I can't recall what triggered it, everything happened so quickly, but there was ice . . . a lot of it, in the middle of Solace. Then there was lightning. I've always been particularly good with primal magic, so I suppose it makes sense." The blinding glow of the frozen stalagmites that had sprung up around her without warning, as lightning flared above—her memory of that day was startlingly vivid, as was the fear that had painted her parents' faces.

She shook off the memories. "Next thing I knew, I was being shipped off to Ferelden, escorted by templars." She glanced askance at Teagan; he listened, rapt. She shifted uncomfortably, not used to such scrutiny. "Most of them were what a young mage would expect from a templar," she continued. "Stoic, firm, and generally terrifying—they blindfolded me for a time, and some said awful things. One of them was kind, though. He brought me my meals every day and would talk with me while I ate. It was at his insistence that they removed the blindfold. I imagine he paid dearly for it with his fellows, but he wouldn't relent." She recalled the man, his amiable smile and halo of red hair blurred by the years. "Thrask, I think his name was."

"A kindhearted Templar? From what I hear of the order, especially in Kirkwall, that is surprising."

She shrugged. "As I said, it was just the one. I met another templar who shared his kindness in Kinloch Hold, but . . . he was not the same after Uldred's coup." More memories: a magical cage and words she was never meant to hear. She forced herself to meet Teagan's eyes. "I understand that convincing the Circle to allow Connor to remain at Redcliffe until after the Blight wasn't too difficult."

"There is a small contingent of templars outside of his room as we speak, but yes." Teagan stood from his seat when the water began to boil, the whistle reverberating off the stone walls. "I must say I was surprised at the decision. He might have been safer at Kinloch Hold."

"Were it not for the abominations that ravaged the tower eight months ago, that would be the case. As it is, it still hasn't been fully cleansed. The other apprentices have been sent to the Circle in Jainen until the archdemon has been dealt with."

He returned to the table, setting the tea to steep. "And what comes after? What will happen to Connor?"

"It will take some time, but Knight Commander Greagoir will do a final sweep of the tower, with the help of the remaining templars and First Enchanter Irving. As soon as word is sent to Redcliffe that it is safe, we will escort Connor to Kinloch Hold to begin his training."

"We?"

She started, eyes widening. Maker, that was right. She hadn't mentioned her plan yet. "The templars and I. Assuming I survive the assault on Denerim, I intend to seek Eamon's permission to accompany Connor."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"I . . ." She paused, not entirely sure herself. Of course, she had faced the demon that possessed Connor and come to know the boy's desires. She'd been in his mind in a way she didn't believe was her right, if she was perfectly honest. It was possible she knew Connor almost as well as Teagan did. In that, she found her answer. "I suppose I feel personally responsible for his safety. It sounds silly, I know, but when you see into the deepest recesses of someone's mind, see the things they want most and what is most important to them, a strange sort of bond is formed."

_Almost like the taint_, she added silently.

He looked up from pouring tea into a pair of mugs. A smile touched his lips, and he looked almost . . . astonished. "You are a remarkable woman, Arais."

"No more remarkable than any other person, were they put in my position." She cast her eyes downward as she sipped her tea, as though the floor had suddenly become very interesting.

She felt horribly unworthy of his praise. Staring at the smooth, grey stone, her thoughts strayed back to her regrets and the pain she'd caused. Wynne had once told Arais that to dwell on regrets could drive a person mad. Indeed, there wasn't a doubt in Arais's mind that she was on the verge of madness every time she thought back on the Landsmeet, or any of the countless other decisions she made over the past year that ended poorly. What was _truly _remarkable was her ability to botch everything and still manage to be seen as a hero.

She would never deserve it. How could she ever believe she deserved such praise?

The fire crackled in the hearth, the glow of the flames casting shadows that danced along the walls. The heat reached out and embraced her, warming her skin, but it couldn't quite thaw the ice that now swallowed her heart and trailed down to settle in her stomach. She was suddenly and wholly numb, and she felt strangely empty, as though she had been hollowed out.

A hand rested on her forearm, and she glanced up to find Teagan staring at her, worried. "Is everything all right? It seems as if you have a lot more on your mind than the Blight."

"You could say that, yes." She set down her mug, her tea now tepid. "I know I should be frightened; I could die, after all. But for some reason, I'm not afraid. I think I've just stopped being able to feel much of anything. There were too many feelings: pain, regret . . . guilt, mostly." She paused. "On the one hand, I know I've done everything I knew to do to make sure this Blight ends before it can truly begin. But at the same time, I've made enough mistakes along the way—_so_ many mistakes—I don't think I'll ever be able to feel I did _enough_. So it's better just to feel nothing at all."

"Arais, you have done more than anyone could have expected of you." He knelt before her, his own mug forgotten on the table. "Rumors spread quickly, even during a Blight. I'm sure I've only heard part of the story, but I know this much: You united Ferelden, even while it was threatened with civil war. You brought the dwarves and the elves to its aid." Arais opened her mouth to speak, but Teagan silenced her with a firm look. "Hear me out. You did what Loghain—a man who helped save this country himself once upon a time—could not. You did something he could never have done. And that doesn't even begin to touch on the things you did for my own family.

"Time and time again, you've proven that you will do what is right, and what is best. That's why I trust your decision to support Anora at the Landsmeet, and all the other decisions you've made. Perhaps there were mistakes along the way, but you've gotten us somewhere we never could have come without you." He smiled, a warm, genuine smile, and his eyes lit up with admiration. "It will be an honor to fight at your side."

She studied his face. His blue eyes, always open to her, were filled with so much candor, she couldn't help but believe he meant what he said. Her heart ached in a way she didn't expect, knowing Teagan trusted her in a way Alistair could not.

Her vision went cloudy with tears, and, embarrassed, she struggled to blink them back. Even so, a few escaped and slipped down her cheeks, and she let her eyes fall closed, while breathing deeply. Teagan's hand left her arm, and she startled when his thumb brushed against her face, as he wiped away an errant tear.

She opened her eyes to find him frowning, concern etched in the creases around his eyes. It seemed impossible, but . . . he seemed to genuinely care for her. A ghost of something she had thought lost to her fluttered in her stomach, and she latched onto it, allowing it to flourish.

She brought her hand up to cup his cheek, the corners of her mouth turning up in a small smile. For once, it didn't feel forced.

The grin returned to his lips, tentative but honest, and she could feel something melt inside of her; just the smallest fragment of ice broke off. Her heart felt lighter.

Perhaps . . .

Slowly, haltingly, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. She lingered only a moment before she pulled away and shyly met his eyes, uncertain what she expected to see in them.

He looked surprised. Her face grew hot, and she started to pull her hand back. But Teagan caught it, and held it against his cheek. The wonder in his gaze began to shift, and she caught only the briefest glimpse of desire darkening his irises before he leaned close and kissed her.

His lips were soft and warm as they caressed hers, while his beard scratched her chin. Her heart skipped a beat when his hand moved to her waist and he leveraged himself closer. Warmth surged through her; it slipped through the cracks in the ice that surrounded her heart, and filled the void that threatened to consume her.

He pulled away, just enough to whisper into her ear. "You said you've stopped feeling. Can you feel this?"

"Yes," she murmured. It was true. She felt this, and it felt wonderful.

He leaned in to kiss her again, and now his tongue swept across her bottom lip, and she moaned softly as she opened herself to him. He tasted of tea and cinnamon, and her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. She could feel his heat as her knees pressed into his hips, and she melted beneath the sweet meeting of their lips and the way his hands held her hips for support. It was all she could do to remember to breathe.

A throat cleared across the kitchen, and Arais pulled away, startled. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she folded her hands in her lap. When she gathered enough composure to look up, she found Loghain in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he glared impatiently. She could only stare, embarrassed, while steely eyes assessed the scene he'd walked in on. Teagan made no more than a cursory glance over his shoulder before turning back to Arais, his back straight and stiff.

After several moments of uncomfortable silence, Loghain said, "It is done," with a pointed look that spoke of his displeasure—at exactly what, she couldn't be sure. Then he left just as suddenly as he'd arrived.

Arais's gaze remained fixed on the empty doorway as the reality of what Loghain said, of what he'd done, crashed down on her. Finally, she went limp. She leaned against the back of the chair, the hard wood pressing into her spine. It was as if this ritual she'd had no part in had sapped the energy from her, leaving her weak and exhausted. She covered her face with her hands and took a deep breath, allowing everything to fully sink in.

She had ensured the best possible odds for their survival in Denerim, the best possible odds for defeating this Blight. And maybe . . . just maybe, they could survive this.

Warm, calloused hands grasped her own and gently urged them away from her face. Teagan's blue eyes searched her silver ones, with a question she couldn't answer swimming in those light sapphire depths. She wanted to tell him of the ritual, truly, but it was forbidden magic; at the very least, it would never be approved by the Chantry. And after what happened with Connor . . . she just couldn't see Teagan approving of it, regardless of its advantages.

She still wasn't sure she approved of it herself, but the die was cast. She would have to live with the consequences.

"Perhaps we should retire to our quarters for the evening?" she suggested, her fatigue overpowering anything that might have lingered from before Loghain's interruption.

His gaze held hers for a moment before he nodded. She could see no disappointment in his expression as he stood and held his hand out to help her stand. Rather, he seemed to understand. She accepted the proffered hand and rose to her feet, and his fingers grasped hers just a beat longer than necessary before letting them slide away. She missed the contact.

Her vision swam when she walked past him, and she stumbled slightly. One of his hands found her shoulder, and the other her lower back, as he helped her regain her balance.

"Are you all right?"

She forced a smile. "Yes, I'm fine. Just a bit more weary than I expected."

"Might I escort you to your room?"

The hand on her shoulder tightened ever so slightly; he was genuinely worried about her. She didn't truly think she needed his help, but it seemed it would set his mind at ease.

"Yes, please."

His hand fell from her shoulder, and she started forward, feeling just the smallest amount of added pressure from the hand on her back.

They walked in silence, and with that silence came the pressure of what the coming months would bring, assuming the archdemon fell in Denerim. The weight of foreboding threatened to suffocate her. Teagan's hand slid from her back, his fingers twining with her own. She glanced sidelong at him and, when she caught him doing the same, looked away quickly. It was as if he could sense her distress in the quiet, but didn't quite know how to break it.

They made their way up the stairs to the guest quarters. It was her turn to lead him, and when she entered the hall where her room was located, she found the door open. She stepped over the threshold, Teagan close behind, and her mouth fell open slightly; it looked as if no one had ever set foot in the room. The bed was neat, different linens than she remembered from earlier now turned down for the evening. The only sign of life was the fire crackling in the hearth.

"Is something the matter?"

Her mouth shut with an audible click. "No. No, not at all." Arais turned to him, hand still clasped in his, a half-hearted smile on her lips. "Thank you, Teagan. For everything. I feel terrible, laying my burdens on your lap as I did."

"It was no trouble," he said, echoing her earlier words. His free hand cupped her cheek tenderly. "You are a strong woman, Arais, but even the strongest of us need help at times." His eyes glimmered with something like empathy, and she guessed he was thinking of her first visit to Redcliffe. Everything had been in chaos; the state she had found the village in was the first real sign that her journey would not be an easy one. Ruined homes and terrified villagers, and only their arl's brother to offer guidance . . . she still couldn't believe they had managed to lose only Lloyd at sundown. "I would be glad to offer help in any way I can, should you need it."

"I . . . appreciate that." Her voice was soft, but firm. "More than you know."

"I think I have some idea." His hand slid down to grasp her own, and her stomach fluttered when Teagan bowed his head and brushed his lips across her knuckles, glancing up to meet her eyes. "Sleep well, Arais."

He held her gaze as he straightened, and, for a brief moment, she thought he might close the distance between them. With only a little surprise, she realized she wanted him to. She wanted him to kiss her as he had in the kitchen, hold her close and make her forget for just one night that everything was falling apart outside the castle walls.

But when his hand released hers and he turned to leave, she didn't stop him. She watched him go, suppressing a pang of disappointment as the door closed behind him.

A claustrophobic quiet settled in, and she listened to the pop and sizzle of the logs burning in the fireplace to keep from going mad. She turned and watched the flames lick toward the flue, and her thoughts drifted to the kitchen, to Teagan's lips on hers. She could still feel his fingers pressing into her hips where he'd held her, and the taste of cinnamon lingered on her tongue.

It was probably best they had been interrupted. Arais was a mage, and there could be nothing between her and a man of his status. Whatever might have happened would have complicated things for Teagan, just as they would have for Alistair, had he become king.

Alistair.

Had he made it out of Ferelden safely? In all likelihood, she would probably never learn the answer to that question. Did she really want to? For all she knew, he could be dead, and she would stumble upon his corpse when she returned to Denerim.

Maker, she hoped he'd made it out alive. Even if they never saw each other again, he deserved to live a full life, or whatever sort of life a Warden was afforded. There seemed little chance that he would return, to her or to the Wardens, but what he'd said about their life expectancy . . . surely that wasn't negated simply because one no longer considered themselves a Warden.

But what did she truly know of being a Grey Warden?

She yawned as exhaustion clouded the thoughts that plagued her. She wouldn't find the answers to her questions tonight, so there was no sense dwelling on them. There would be plenty of time in the next month to think on such things, and perhaps when they arrived in Denerim she would find her answers.

Tonight, she would fight back the ever-present nightmares of a tainted dragon and its army of twisted creatures. She would remember that someone believed in her, trusted her, and he would be at her side when they marched on Denerim, his warmth keeping the numbness at bay. For the first time in a long two months of despair, it all didn't feel quite so hopeless.

* * *

_**The biggest thank you ever to Herebedragons66 for her wonderful beta of this story. It was a hot mess before she got her hands on it, and now I really think it shines. Shout outs to purplebloodedmajesty on tumblr and Jordan A. Masters here on for giving it a quick once over for minor typos before I posted. You guys are the best ever and I love you all. **_


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